nothing.

When they reached the foot of the tower, there was light enough to see a huge chain dangling half way from the parapet. The deaf mute took from his saddle-wallet a sort of ladder, arranged in pieces like a puzzle, fitted it together, and lifted it up to meet the chain. Then he mounted to the top of the tower, and slung from it a chair, in which the woman and child placed themselves and were drawn up, never to come down again. The man descended the ladder, took it to pieces and disappeared across the plain. Every month he came and fastened his horse to the foot of the tower and climbed it as before, laden with provisions and many other things. He always saw the Prince, so as to make sure that the child was alive and well, and then went away until the following month.

Prince Dolor had every luxury that even a Prince could need, and the one thing wanting—love, never having known, he did not miss. His nurse was very kind to him, though she was a wicked woman. Perhaps it made her better to be shut up with an innocent child.

By-and-by he began to learn lessons—not that his nurse had been ordered to teach him, but she did it partly to amuse herself. She was not a stupid woman, and Prince Dolor was by no means a stupid child; so they got on very well.

When he grew older he began reading the books which the mute brought to him. As they told him of the things in the outside world he longed to see them.

From this time a change came over the boy. He began to look sad and thin, and to shut himself up for hours without speaking. His nurse had been forbidden, on pain of death, to tell him anything about himself. He knew he was Prince Dolor, because she always addressed him as "My prince" and "your Royal Highness," but what a prince was, he had not the least idea.

He had been reading one day, but feeling all the while that to read about things which you never can see is like hearing about a beautiful dinner while you are starving. He grew melancholy, gazing out of the window-slit.

Not a very cheerful view—just the plain and the sky—but he liked it. He used to think, if he could only fly out of that window, up to the sky or down to the plain, how nice it would be! Perhaps when he died—his nurse had told him once in anger that he would never leave the tower till he died—he might be able to do this.

"And I wish I had somebody to tell me all about it; about that and many other things; somebody that would be fond of me, like my poor white kitten."

Here the tears came into his eyes, for the boy's one friend had been a little white kitten, which the deaf mute, kindly smiling, once took out of his pocket and gave him. For four weeks it was his constant companion and plaything, till one moonlight night it took a fancy for wandering, climbed on to the parapet of the tower, dropped over and disappeared. It was not killed, he hoped; indeed, he almost fancied he saw it pick itself up and scamper away, but he never caught sight of it again.

"Yes, I wish I had a person, a real live person, who would be fond of me and kind to me. Oh, I want somebody—dreadfully, dreadfully!"

As he spoke, there sounded behind him a slight tap-tap-tap, as of a cane, and twisting himself around, what do you think he saw? A curious little woman, no bigger than he might himself have been, had his legs grown, but she was not a child—she was an old woman with a sweet smile and a soft voice, and was carrying a cane.

"My own little boy," she said, "I could not come to you until you had said you wanted me, but now you do want me, here I am."

"And you are very welcome, madam," replied the Prince. "May I ask you who you are? Perhaps my mother?"

AND TWISTING HIMSELF AROUND, WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SAW?   [PAGE 16.]
View larger image

"No, I am not your mother, though she was a dear friend of mine."

"Will you tell her to come and see me then?"

"She cannot; but I daresay she knows all about you and loves you. I love you, too, and I want to help you, my poor little boy."

"Why do you call me poor?" asked Prince Dolor in surprise.

The little old woman sighed and glanced down at his legs and feet, which he did not know were different from those of other children, and then to his sweet, bright face.

"I beg your pardon, My Prince," said she.

"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours, madam?"

The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells.

"I have so many that I don't know which to choose. It was I who gave you yours, and you will belong to me all your days. I am your godmother."

"Hurrah!" cried the little prince; "I am glad I belong to you, for I like you very much."

So they sat down and played and talked together.

"Are you very lonesome here?" asked the little old woman.

"Not particularly, thank you, godmother. I have my lessons to do, and my books to read."

"And you want for nothing?"

"Nothing. Yes, godmother, please bring me a little boy to play with?"

"Just the thing, alas, which I cannot give you."

His godmother took him in her arms and kissed him. By-and-by he kissed her at first awkwardly and shyly, then with all the strength of his warm little heart.

"Promise me that you will never go away, godmother."

"I must, but I will leave you a travelling cloak that will take you wherever you want to go, and show you all that you wish to see."

"I don't need a cloak, for I never go out."

"Hush! the nurse is coming."

A grumpy voice and a rattle of plates and dishes was heard.

"It's my nurse, bringing my dinner; but I don't want dinner. I only want you. Will her coming drive you away, godmother?"

"Only for a while, only wish for me and I will return."

When the door opened, Prince Dolor shut his eyes; opening them again, nobody but his nurse was in the room, as his godmother had melted away.

"Such a heap of untidy books; and what's this rubbish?" said she, kicking a little bundle that lay beside them.

"Give it to me," cried the Prince; and reaching after it, he hid it under his pinafore.

It was, though she did not know this, his wonderful travelling-cloak.

Back to contents

CHAPTER IV.

The cloak outside, was the commonest looking bundle imaginable—Dolor touched it; it grew smaller, and he put it into his trouser's pocket and kept it there until he had a chance to look at it.

It seemed but a mere piece of cloth, dark green in color, being worn and shabby, though not dirty.

Prince Dolor examined it curiously; spread it out on the floor, then arranged it on his shoulders. It felt comfortable; but was the only shabby thing the Prince had ever seen in his life.

"And what use will it be to me?" said he sadly, "and what in the world shall I do with it?"

He folded it carefully and put it away in a safe corner of his toy-cupboard. After a time he nearly forgot the cloak and his godmother. Sometimes though, he recalled her sweet pleasant face; but as she never